


this isn't fair

by purplejohto



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Gen, Revolutionary War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplejohto/pseuds/purplejohto
Summary: “How was it supposed to be? You didn’t give me a choice, England. You ran off with your own head, left nothing for me.”
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 7





	this isn't fair

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”  
  


He knelt, knees dirtied in the mud, thundering rain, so loud in his ears, he almost misses America’s reply.  
  


“How was it supposed to be? You didn’t give me a choice, England. You ran off with your own head, left nothing for me.”  
  


That voice. So pitiful, so sad, mourning for what was, what could have been. Mourning for him. Why?  
  


“This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”  
  


He repeated and cried into the palms he pressed into his eyes. His rifle laid in the mud next to him, skewed, unusable, abandoned. His hunched figure trembled with the weather, the cold rain that seeped through the ragged cloth of his uniform. He shook with the gripping force of betrayal and hurt. Why? Why did _America_ sound hurt? It was him. HE was the one who was hurting. Why couldn’t he see? Why couldn’t Alfred feel it? Every centimetre of land, of _him_ being ripped away from his being. Was he happy now? Did he feel powerful now? Is he satisfied now? Staring at the crumpled spirit of his former caretaker, _what else did he want_?  
  


“You know, I used to look up to you.”  
  


Was his grievance an insult? A mockery?  
  


As a memory of a young blue-eyed boy flashed through Arthur’s racing thoughts, a sob forced his way out his throat. A pitiful sound. An almost childlike frustration tore through him. Angry at himself, angry at his reaction, angry at his weakness, his loss. The world was unfair. And the world was brutal.  
  


When England wakes up in his bed, feverish, reeling from the loss of 13 colonies, he realizes that this was a revelation he made centuries ago. A revelation he had accepted centuries ago. So no, he will not beg, he will not wimp, he will not admit fault. He will not say, ‘it hurts’ because he already knows it does.  
  


He will not confirm it. On that rainy July day, sobbing at the feet of his own ward, blonde hair dirtied by the spoils of war and battle. The sickness that replaced him, in favour of America’s new world. No, he will not confirm it. No; it wasn't fair.


End file.
